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Archive for March, 2010

Bet & Margaret with MotherHere is an old photograph of Jack’s mother Margaret on the right, with her sister Bet on the left and I believe it is their mother (Jack’s grandmother, my great-grandmother) in the middle.  The photo is rather old so I apologise for the graininess!

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I love the sentiment of this undated and previously unpublished short poem.

Evening On A Cliff Top

The sun sinks down behind the hill,
Everything is quiet and still.
The noises of the day have ceased,
All around is wrapped by a tranquil peace.
Even the rocks, which daylight shows so stark,
Are rounded to a softer shape
And seem hunched up in sleep,
Waiting for tomorrow’s dawn to break.
And I, sitting on the cliff tops on my own
Am cradled by the silence of the evening,
And feel forever humbled by the age of Nature’s throne.

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This short poem, which once again demonstrates Jack’s philosophy about nature, has no date and has not been published before.

The Poacher Ferret

Fascinatingly lethal
Deceitfully tame
Needing no master
Feeling no blame
Doing what needs
Fitting the plan
           Rules by nature
           Events by man.

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Jack initially submitted this poem to The National Poetry Foundation in 1988.  After receiving a critique of the poem from the Foundation he polished it some more and re-submitted it in 1989.  It was then accepted towards the collection of his work that was unfortunately never published.

The Mountain

The mountain is warm and calm today. Sheep
Graze its greener slopes – warm beating hearts
Scurry and fret under a colourful apron
Of heather and bracken – but the rocks,
Giant ruminating rocks prevail.

Winding, almost turning back on itself,
Distant in a heavy haze of ling the path
Spills headlong, rushing like a stream
To where I stand. With soaring head and
Heart I start to climb as far as fancy takes.

Up here on the mountain there is truth.
Sweet unfettered winds of honesty blow
Across purple tremulous heather, and
Huge indulgent boulders soak up time
In a dense effortless silence.

I sit awash in a cathedral calm
While a soaring minstrel lark, a bubbling
Free spirit, feathered the sky with its song,
So in harmony with its surroundings
I could still hear the silence breathing.

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